


Cradled in Love

by Krixel



Series: Illusion & Dream [4]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, No Beta, Prompt Fill, Soft husbands are soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29687223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krixel/pseuds/Krixel
Summary: When Runaan arrives home weeks late and battered from a mission, Ethari reminds him what it means to come home.
Relationships: Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince)
Series: Illusion & Dream [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970386
Comments: 14
Kudos: 48





	Cradled in Love

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt Fill: Ruthari - Please, let me carry you.

Relief bloomed in Runaan’s chest as he slipped through the front door. Darkness bathed the main floor, broken only by a small mote of yellow light in the kitchen, and the occasional shifting shadows of cloud covered moonbeams. The resinous, slightly spicy scent of wooden walls twisted with a sweeter citrus, and Runaan turned his head towards the island counter. Candied twilight lemon slices lay drying on a pan and Runaan smiled, relishing the familiar. 

He leaned his back against the closed door, easing pressure off his right leg, and tugged at his boot. The swollen skin of his ankle was reluctant to relinquish it, but a sharp twist and jerk pulled it free. Bright star bursts of white light erupted behind his eyelids, and he sank his teeth into his tongue to muffle a grunt. 

With a healthy dose of hesitation, he lowered his foot and shifted his weight onto the damaged limb. Pain lanced up his leg. The sudden spark fanned awake the flames of battered ribs and bruises, and he toppled into the door with a thunk, elbow smarting. A muscle flinched in his jaw as he sucked in a slow breath between clenched teeth and waited.

A moment later, the faint creak of overhead floorboards and softly squeaking hinges broke the silence, and a dim glow brightened the dark stairwell. Runaan swallowed a swear. He hadn’t meant to wake Ethari. Bracing his shoulder against the wooden door frame, Runaan removed his second boot, and was setting it neatly beside the first as Ethari entered the room. Runaan straightened, taking care not to favor his right side, and faced him.

Ethari stood frozen at the base of the stairs, arms crossed and brown eyes blinking. “Runaan?”

“Hello,” Runaan said, and then chided himself for the awkward greeting. This was Ethari, his husband, not some formal acquaintance. He tried to soften his voice. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t -” Ethari cut himself off with a shake of his head, a wary sort of hope creeping into his expression. “You’re finally back? I’m not dreaming?”

An unpleasant emotion tugged at the threads of Runaan’s heart, but he forced a smile. “That depends,” he said. “How often do you dream of me falling over?” And then, more gently, “I’m back.”

The last of Ethari’s confusion faded under the light of his smile, and in three long strides he crossed the room. Strong arms wrapped around Runaan, pulling him into an equally sturdy chest, and fireworks of pain licked along his nerves. Runaan leaned into the embrace, anyway. Wood smoke and metal enveloped him in the cocoon of Ethari’s arms, and Runaan’s shoulders relaxed at the scent of his husband, of home. “I missed you,” he said.

“And I you.” Ethari’s arms tightened further, his head dipping to kiss the crown of Runaan’s head. “Always, until you return to me.”

The press of Ethari’s arm followed the painted canvas of bruises along his side, but Runaan barely noticed. Nothing about the troubles of the last month mattered, not in that moment, not in Ethari’s arms. Dropping his forehead against Ethari’s collarbone, he released an exhale of tension. “It’s good to be home.”

“What happened?” Ethari’s hand stroked up his back as tension returned to his shoulders, his trailing fingers pausing at the ragged tangle of his ponytail. “You were due back weeks ago.”

“Trouble,” Runaan said, huffing a laugh as Ethari tugged on his hair for the obvious answer. “Our target had more relevant information than predicted, and thus one target turned to two, which turned to multiple because of his hired guard. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow, but everyone is all right.”

Ethari hummed, the vibration rolling through his chest and against Runaan’s cheek. “Everyone’s all right?” he asked, relief warring with skepticism in his voice. “I think perhaps you should reevaluate that one, love.”

Runaan snapped his head up, nearly clipping Ethari with his horns, and furrowed his brow. The draping shroud of exhaustion that had descended on him temporarily lifted with the adrenaline spike. Had Ethari heard of something? But no - he hadn’t known Runaan was - oh. “You mean me.”

“I do.” Ethari tilted his head down and Runaan responded, pressing their lips together in a soft, delicate kiss. When they separated, Ethari grinned. “Mind you, I’m not complaining, but you’ve practically melted onto me, dear.”

Runaan looked down, taking stock. With their chests pressed together, and Runaan’s arms having snaked their way loosely around Ethari’s neck - ignoring the unpleasant pull in his ribs - Ethari’s hug had become less of an affectionate snuggle and more of a stabilizing force. “Ah,” Runaan said. “So I have.”

He cleared his throat, a flush of heat claiming his cheeks, and moved to right himself. Ethari reluctantly released him, his hands sliding from Runaan’s waist to his shoulders in a loosened grip. Runaan braced for the shock of pain as he stiffened his posture and reclaimed his weight, but it hit him like a lightning strike. With a shriek of protest, his ankle collapsed, and Runaan’s leg buckled.

Ethari’s grip banded around his biceps, and Runaan clutched at his wrist, struggling to stay on his feet. He bit down against a litany of curses and tried to transfer the bulk of his weight back to his left leg. Ethari didn’t let him. 

He tugged Runaan back into an embrace, one arm slipping behind his lower back in support, while the other tucked beneath his arm. “Everyone is all right?” he asked again.

Runaan scowled. “I’m fine,” he said, attempting to wriggle free of Ethari’s vice-like hold. “It’s nothing serious.”

“Right.” It was rare that Ethari’s bright, teasing tone trended towards sarcasm, and it never did unwarranted. Runaan winced and stopped struggling as Ethari continued. “One day, we’ll go over the vast realm of possibilities on the scale between ‘not having endured a mortal wound’ and ‘being fine,’ my love.”

“It’s a sprained ankle, nothing more.” Well, a sprained ankle, some bruises of questionable severity, and possibly a fractured rib or two. But he was fine.

In response, Ethari dropped the hand from Runaan’s lower back to his knees, and swept him up in a single easy lift. Runaan didn’t quite squawk, but it was close. “What?” he said, as his brain struggled to right itself with the sudden gravity shift. “Ethari, this isn’t necessary. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” Ethari took a single sharp breath and struggled to quell the urge to yell that was battering against his chest. Instead, he tightened his hold on Runaan and pressed a kiss to his temple. 

“Runaan,” he said, and yes, that was calmer. “You are weeks late, it is the middle of the night, and frankly love, you look terrible.”

He knew Ethari was right. He was battered and bruised, had lapped the line of exhaustion hours back, and suspected his appearance hovered somewhere near haunting if he looked half as bad as he felt. But knowing it, and being willing to admit it - “Ethari,” he tried again.

“Please, love.” Ethari’s voice dropped, an almost whisper, but still it trembled. He bowed his head, the fringe of his hair shading his eyes, and cradled Runaan to his chest. “Let me carry you.”

Guilt pierced the center of Runaan’s chest and twisted, his lungs emptying in protest at the pain in Ethari’s voice. He forgot sometimes. The things Ethari endured for him. Runaan was the one on missions, risking life and literal limb for the safety of the Silvergrove, but Ethari - every time Runaan stepped out the door - Ethari risked his heart. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, resting his forehead against Ethari’s temple, his lips just brushing the line of his ear. “I’m sorry I put you through this so often, leaving you to wait and worry.”

Ethari squeezed him in reassurance and lifted his head. “I know who I married,” he said. “Don’t ever think I’m asking you to change, love. I just want to take care of you when you’re here.” 

Runaan cupped his hand to Ethari’s cheek and tilted his head to face him. A telltale redness lingered in his eyes, but they were dry. It stung Runaan, anyway. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

Ethari smiled at him and shook his head, blinked hard. He let Runaan’s touch linger a moment longer before he cleared his throat. “All right,” he said. “Let’s get you upstairs, and preferably in a bath.”

Runaan huffed, crossing his arms and feeling like a petulant child as Ethari carried him up the stairs. “Are you trying to seduce me, or implying I smell?”

“Not implying, love,” Ethari said, humor returning the levity in his voice. “Stating. Emphatically.”

Runaan considered being offended, but that was… fair. A storm had caught them on the last leg of their return, and Runaan’s hair hadn’t survived it. The tangled mass of white hung limply down his back, too much a mess for him to salvage on the road. Dried mud spattered his pants and jacket, and they’d hardly wasted the time to do much more than dip into streams between their target destination and home.

Ethari toed open the bedroom door, and carried Runaan across the room, placing him on the carved window bench near the bathroom door. He leaned over, dropping a quick kiss against Runaan’s lips, then motioned behind him. “I’ll go run you bath.” He paused at the doorway, a sly smile curving his lips. “Unless you need help to undress?”

Runaan bit down on his tongue to stifle a laugh and tilted his chin up in a haughty expression. “You don’t get to insult me, and then disrobe me,” he said.

“Ah,” Ethari said, expression dimming. “You might have mentioned that before our wedding vows.”

The laugh bubbled out of Runaan without permission, and he tossed a pillow from beside him towards Ethari as his husband ducked into the bathroom, still cackling. A moment later the sound of running water filled the room, and Runaan smothered a yawn as he tugged at the clasps on his clothes.

The belt of his overcoat stuck, likely bent in the same collision that’d pummeled his side, and his fingers fumbled with it. After a rough twist, it broke free, and Runaan shrugged the overcoat off his shoulders. He’d stripped off his armored vest and tunic, and was down to just his trousers when Ethari returned.

Light brown eyes skimmed across his naked torso and darkened with temper. Runaan frowned, confused, before he followed his husband’s gaze and realized his mistake. A blended array of blues and purples decorated his side, from chest to hip, and Runaan placed his hand over his ribs as if he could shield them. Ethari’s eyes narrowed. “Nothing but a sprained ankle, right dear?”

Runaan sighed. He padded across the room to where Ethari waited in the doorway and reached across the distance between them to rest his hands on his husband’s hips. “I’m sorry.” He winced. He seemed to be saying that a lot tonight. “I may have understated. I didn’t want to worry you more than I already have, and they’re all just bruises and inconveniences. None of this is serious.”

Ethari lifted his hand, let it hover above the bruises in case Runaan flinched from him, then settled his palm gently against the mottled skin. “I don’t only care when it’s serious, you absolute biscuit.” Ethari lifted his other hand, caught Runaan’s chin to meet his eyes. “I care when you hurt at all.”

Words choked in Runaan’s throat, piling up as he struggled to find a proper response. He lifted his hand and cradled Ethari’s wrist, as his husband’s thumb trailed along his bottom lip. When he opened his mouth to speak, Ethari shook his head. “Don’t,” he said, but his tone was gentle. “You’ve apologized enough tonight. I’m not chastising you, love. I’m telling you you’re home.”

Home. His next breath shook, and he closed his eyes. Right, he was home - where he didn’t have to be in control all the time, didn’t have to pretend to be invulnerable. Where he didn’t need the walls that defined so much of his life. He gave a shaky nod.

Ethari’s fingers danced from Runaan’s chin, to his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw, and the curve of his temple - marking a path for warm lips to follow - and when they finally settled on their destination, he tasted like home.


End file.
